


Baby, You're A Rich Man

by Marks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Dark Harry Potter, M/M, Minor Violence, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-25
Updated: 2004-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after defeating Voldemort, Harry Potter is one of the richest wizards alive and few people know what he does with his time.  The few that do, though, know he has very specific requirements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, You're A Rich Man

**Author's Note:**

> The one where Harry goes to hookers and is kind of a dick.

Truly knowing Harry Potter was such an elusive thing. Most people knew the facts, of course. Temporarily defeated You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. Raised by Muggle relatives. Quidditch champion. Triwizard champion. Considered mad by some, a hero to others, and both to many. The final death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at Harry's hands when he was just seventeen. The facts.

That last bit was a piece of contention, however. No one knew how he'd done it. Harry had been alone at the time and refused to explain what happened. Everything had been gleaned through cut-outs from _The Prophet_ , snatches off WWN, and idle gossip passed through stage whispers and hands dramatically cupped around mouths.

Despite his reluctance, Harry still occasionally found himself in the spotlight. The last time he'd appeared in the papers, it was over his inheritance; the latest in a long line of scandals. Sirius Black had been a wanted, dangerous criminal and everyone knew the role he played in killing the Potters, so why did the will of the last, living Black heir stipulate that everything be left to Harry James Potter? How had Harry been so sure of his godfather's death four years earlier if he'd never met him? How had he known exactly where to find the will, effectively unseating Narcissa Malfoy as head of the Black estate? Unfortunately, the answers weren't forthcoming, as Harry shunned any media attention. It was impossible to find a wizarding photograph of Harry without him hiding along the edges or pulling his robe over his face.

What was known, however, was the combined Black and Potter money made Harry one of the richest wizards alive. Two of the oldest houses united under one Boy. He was an antisocial war hero, a reclusive millionaire. The withdrawn lifestyle he led was provided by the Wizarding World's indulgence to the Boy Who Lived for simply Living, a happy side effect of saving the world. Despite the occasional article or the sometimes urgent behind-the-back whispers, most people left Harry alone and he privately believed it was simply because he'd worn out his usefulness.

Two years after the Dark Lord's defeat, very few people knew what Harry did with his free time at all. Even people who thought they might have reason to know him, – his friends, his former teachers, even his enemies – probably had less idea about Harry than they believed.

The truth was, Harry spent most of his days – and an equal number of nights – skulking about the dark alleyways of Knockturn Alley. Sometimes, he disguised himself. Other times, he wore Dudley's old, grey, Muggle clothes and brushed his hair off his face - the still red, never fading scar standing at sharp relief against his skin - wanting, _daring_ anyone to look at him. They never did.

Very few people knew exactly what Harry did while in Knockturn Alley. And as for the few who were well-informed, they weren't talking because they were generously paid for their silence. As for what money didn't buy, a strategically placed Memory Charm worked wonders.

On this particular day, Harry struck a balance between street urchin chic and undercover Auror. He had an appointment to make and when dealing with these people, it was best to look like yourself. It didn't matter that he was their best customer.

Harry stuck close to the shops, ignoring the dark creatures and other wizards deliberately avoiding Harry deliberately avoiding them. From a storefront, a hag beckoned Harry with one gnarled finger. Reminded of the rotting flesh of a Dementor, Harry ignored her completely. He knew he'd pay for that. The hag brewed the most effective hallucinogenic potions that Harry had ever experienced, and since he'd sampled a rather lot, he could state that with some authority. She'd surely make his life hellish the next time they met, but that wasn't his purpose today.

_Left, left, right, straight, straight, right, concentrate. There._

The hidden alleyway appeared, alongside a shop with a prominent display of shrunken heads. Harry tapped on the wall in a precise, complex sequence that he'd long ago memorised. When the doorway appeared, Harry stepped inside, squinting so his eyes would adjust to the dark.

The Incantation, Knockturn Alley's most exclusive club, was the best place to get the newest gadget, experimental charm, or even just an imported Firewhiskey. The best place to get anything the heart desired, in fact, but its speciality was sex. Girls, boys, house elves, or Muggles. Trussed, tied, chained, gagged, dominating, or submissive. In heels or in leather. Any shape, size, age, or colour. Whatever the specifications, the proprietors had the means to obtain it and would do so with the utmost discretion. Because of this, the establishment had many repeat customers, of which Harry happened to be the most famous. However, only the owners, a few select employees, and the other regulars were aware of this.

Harry preferred boys with quite particular specifications. He'd already run through a number (he'd lost count around ten or so), loving it when they begged prettily, but none pleased him completely. So he kept trying.

The owner, Mauvaise, rushed up to quietly greet Harry as he entered the main room. Excited, Mauvaise gestured frantically with his hands, even though he hadn't yet started speaking. Harry smiled slightly at the action. The man loved a flamboyant gesture. Mauvaise leaned in, hands still moving frantically, and whispered in conspiratorial tones, "So good to see you, Mr. Potter. I believe we may have scored quite a coup this time. He meets your specifications _exactly_. Wizard. Was living on the streets and has been an extremely quick study. I have it on good authority that he's been doing this sort of thing for quite awhile now."

Nodding, Harry wouldn't allow himself to get his hopes up. Mauvaise's flair for the dramatic aside, there had been other good leads before. In fact, one was so close to what Harry wanted that he'd lasted for nearly three weeks. But then he'd demanded more money from Harry, saying he'd go to _The Prophet_ and the end results were messy. Not that Harry had been present, of course, but from what he'd been told, very messy indeed.

Mauvaise led Harry down a long corridor with a checked linoleum floor, something which never failed to make Harry chuckle inwardly, as it exactly matched the pattern in Aunt Petunia's kitchen. They turned left and Harry was swathed in red light. The checks faded into tasteful, dark wood planks, as Harry was led up the stairs to a row of private suites. Mauvaise muttered a password to one, loud enough for Harry to hear in case of emergency. Harry couldn't help but laugh sharply. The irony of using "safe word" to gain entrance to Harry's suite. Those owners definitely had a sense of humour about them.

When the door swung open, the boy was turned away from them and the first thing Harry noticed was an arse, clad in vinyl trousers so tight, the boy might as well have already been naked. Wetting his lips slightly, Harry let his eyes wander upwards, appreciating the whore's lithe form. A black mesh shirt allowed for vision of pale skin with sinewy, but not overly defined, back muscle. Harry's eyes finally rested on a thatch of white-blond hair, not that Harry had expected anything but. It was Harry's first requirement, after all. With a curt nod at Mauvaise, indicating his pleasure, he stepped in the room, slamming the door in the proprietor's face.

At the noise, the boy turned, smudged eyeliner darkly framing his grey eyes. The face was a bit older, but nonetheless familiar. Harry blinked, recognising the _real_ Draco Malfoy.

"Fuck." This was said in unison.

Harry shook off the mutual surprise more quickly. "I thought you were dead," he said simply. Malfoy had been missing for nearly three years now.

"And I thought good Gryffindors didn't buy their way into blokes' trousers." Draco smirked, obviously alive, as something familiar and akin to hatred flared within Harry's belly.

"There's a lot that you don't know about me, Malfoy."

"Apparently. The boss told me you'd specifically requested me." Draco raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and cocked his head to the side.

Harry scowled. "Not _you_. Just someone who looks like you."

"And why else would Harry Potter request a boy, eighteen to twenty-five, slight build, and blond?" Draco wiggled his fingers in a sort of a mock wave in Harry's direction. "Say hello to the Boy Who Fixates."

Harry pulled a sack of Galleons from his robes, carelessly tossing it on the bedside table, scattering bottles of lube and sending a pair of handcuffs clattering to the floor. "Doesn't matter what I'm fixated on," he said. "I have the money and I'm paying for you." Harry smirked. "Now suck my cock, Malfoy."

A brief look of - What was it? Annoyance? Defeat? - passed over Draco's features, but he started quickly undressing, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging upwards. "Slowly," Harry ordered. Draco's pace automatically grew leisurely and, with a practised air, he lifted the shirt with one hand exposing his abdomen for a second before letting the material drop down again. Draco began gyrating his hips to a tune only he could hear. When Draco finally pulled the shirt over his head, stretching one arm out to deposit the shirt near his feet, Harry's eyes wandered across the newly exposed skin.

Draco's pale features stood out in contrast to the rest of the darkened room. His stomach was concave and ribs prominent, causing Harry to wonder if that was simply genetics or one too many missed meals. Across Draco's chest lay a large scar, even paler than the rest of skin. _Something else to request_ , Harry mused, unconsciously touching the bolt above his eyebrow. Scars always had a story, even if Harry wasn't all that interested in hearing Draco's. Biting his lower lip, Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco's. Draco aped the lip-biting, but his eyes were cold. Dead.

The dead-eyed Malfoy tugged at the button holding his trousers closed, instantly bringing Harry's focus elsewhere. Teasingly, he tugged down the zipper, and slowly rolled down the trousers, which seemed dead-set on staying close to Draco's skin. Unsurprisingly, Draco wore no pants beneath – whores rarely did – and exposed a half-hard, dark pink cock, surrounded by nearly white hair.

"Good job," Harry said approvingly. He noticed Draco's jaw clench and his shoulders slump a bit, but the slut said nothing.

Hurriedly, Harry shrugged off his own robes, seated himself along the edge of the bed, then beckoned Draco with one finger. Draco moved to Harry's side of the room, kneeling between Harry's thighs. Draco grasped Harry's cock with one hand and slowly began licking Harry's length. A few moments later, the heat of Draco's mouth engulfed him, but Harry's face was screwed into a grimace.

Placing his hands on each side of Draco's head, Harry yanked Draco's head up. A soft _pop_ accompanied Draco being pulled away from his task. "Something's wrong," Harry said, perturbed.

Eyeing the flaccid state of Harry's lap, Draco snorted. "That's obvious."

"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry pushed Draco away, sending him tumbling to the floor. Eyes, more accusatory than dead, flashed briefly. Deep in thought, Harry propped himself on the palms of his hands and let his head loll back, staring at the ceiling.

Harry went on, "I'm distracted because I'm wondering how exactly you got yourself in this situation. I mean, I know Lucius is dead. I saw his body hung up in front of the Ministry, after all. Money finally ran out for him, didn't it? Only can buy yourself out of situations if you have money to do it." Now idly counting the cracks above, Harry paused, giving Draco time to let the fact that Harry took Narcissa's inheritance from her sink in. "Did you know I was with people who _laughed_ when they saw his corpse? Personally, I would have rather he'd been Kissed and lived out the rest of his life as a vegetable...." Harry trailed off and amused, pulled his head back up and looked down, meeting Draco's eyes.

Still in the position Harry last left him, some emotion was definitely displayed on Draco's face. The other boy's fists were balled tightly, knuckles scraping across the rug. A flush had spread across his chest, which was heaving. Even his normally bloodless cheeks displayed two spots of colour. Harry thought he looked like pure sex.

Harry continued, "I suppose that death was inevitable, with his being on the losing side and all. What about you, though? Doing this for the money or had this been your job with Voldemort's followers, too? Maybe Daddy pimped you out. I bet that was it. You strike me as the type that would really take a shine to this kind of work. Did you like it so much you decided to pursue it professionally? Tell me, Draco, what's it _really_ like to eat death?"

Harry smiled cruelly as Draco scrambled up. Looking down on Harry's grinning face, Draco reeled back and punched his tormentor. With a sickening _crack_ , Harry's nose began to gush blood and, still grinning, he lunged for Draco and began throwing punches of his own. Harry grabbed a handful of Draco's hair, thrilled when Draco yelled loudly. Draco shifted his whole weight, sending them both toppling to the ground, knocking Harry's head against one of the bedposts. The two rolled around on the floor, tangled in a mess of blood and limbs, using teeth and hands and whatever else they could to _hurt_ , and Harry was shocked at just how _alive_ this made him feel.

Minutes later, Draco sported a purpling bruise on his right cheek, his eye makeup streaked across his cheeks and forehead. A circle of teeth marked his left shoulder. Harry, whose nose still trickled with blood, sported a black eye and a scratch that started at his nipple and ended right above his groin. Growing exhausted, the two ceased activity for a moment, Draco straddling Harry's pelvis. At that moment, Harry became aware of a slight wooziness in his head, rugburn on his back, and his painfully hard erection pressed up against the back of Draco's thigh. Harry mewled slightly when Draco shifted his weight again and involuntarily arched his hips.

In a second that felt much longer, Draco stared down at Harry, a streak of mascara-darkened blood across his forehead. No longer lifeless eyes locked with Harry's and he brought his own equally hard erection in contact with Harry's. As Draco ground down, Harry gasped.

Harry tried pulling his head up, just as Draco swooped down to claim Harry's lips. As a result, their teeth clacked together painfully. Draco sucked hard on Harry's tongue, nearly bringing Harry to tears. Abandoning Harry's tongue, Draco's eyes glinted dangerously and he bit hard enough through Harry's lip to draw still more blood. As Draco sucked on the wound, Harry moaned heedlessly. He'd never been so turned on in his entire life.

Draco's hands began scratching more welts down Harry's chest, the two moving together, Harry desperately pressing his cock into Draco's. His head was swimming, but he wasn't sure if it was due to blood loss, desire, or some heady mix of both. Draco removed his nails from Harry's chest and pinned Harry's arms above his head and, grabbing the cuffs that fell to the floor earlier, chained Harry to nearest bed leg.

Harry struggled against his new restraints, desperate to run his hands over Draco's body, but feeling that his current position was somehow right. "I want you," Harry panted quietly.

Draco bit Harry's ear, hard. Harry cried out. "Not sure I heard you. Louder, Potter."

Nearly shouting, Harry said, "Draco, I want you. Please, I need you. God, please."

Smirking, Draco reached for the refuse near the bedside table again, grabbing a bottle of lubricant and slicking a large amount over his cock. As he applied the lube to Harry's entrance with one hand, groaning and pumping himself with the other, Draco said matter-of-factly, "I'm going to fuck you through the floor." At that, Harry tried impaling himself on Draco's fingers, frustrated when they were pulled away. A moment later, it didn't matter, as his legs were pulled over Draco's shoulders and Draco was on him and in him and all through him. Draco didn't hold back a bit, and Harry knew, he _knew_ , that Draco was trying to hurt him. And God, Harry wanted to be hurt, he realised as Draco slammed into him again, causing the cuffs to cut into his wrists. Harry moaned and writhed, Draco's wide eyes trained on his face. There was a burn and there was pain, but oh, it was good pain.

Squeezing hard, Draco grabbed Harry's weeping prick with his free hand, causing yet another shout to escape Harry's lips. Draco gave a short laugh and leaned over to suck on Harry's neck, his ear, and finally his lips. As Draco's tongue snaked its way into Harry's mouth, Harry eagerly sucked on it, feeling very much like he'd never been fed. Draco's cock rubbed against Harry's prostate and Harry _screamed_. There was no other word for it. Faster and faster, Draco moved, rubbing his thumb over Harry's cockhead.

Harry was babbling now. The pressure in his balls was growing unbearable, he could feel Draco's full length buried deep within him. Draco leaned down and bit one of Harry's nipples, then abandoning Harry's cock, reached up and tugged on Harry's restraints. "You love this don't you?"

A string of profanity was Harry's only answer. Draco pulled back and drove into him to the hilt, wrenching a ragged cry from Harry's throat. His orgasm quickly approaching, Harry shut his eyes tightly, gasping, and crying out.

"Open your eyes," Draco ordered and, with some effort, Harry complied. He stared at the streak of blood, the dark bruise, finally meeting Draco's eyes. Harry drowned.

With that, a deep, guttural moan passed through Draco's lips and Harry couldn't help coming with a shout, come shooting out in thick bursts across his stomach and chest. At the same moment, he felt warmth fill him as Draco's cock pulsed and twitched within. Sweaty, bloody, and exhausted, Draco pushed Harry's legs down, then collapsed on top of Harry's body, seemingly not noticing the come covering it, and started laughing hysterically. Harry, unable to put his arms around Draco or do much of anything else, joined him, though he wasn't quite sure if he was laughing or crying himself.

A little while later, Draco rolled off Harry, asking how to unlock the handcuffs. Harry smiled slightly and said, "Safe word", unlocking both the cuffs and the door. Once again, Draco burst into peals of laughter, stood up, and helped Harry off the floor, as Harry rubbed at his swollen wrists.

Reaching over to the table, Draco opened a pack of self-lighting cigarettes, took one, then offered the pack to Harry. He declined. "I don't smoke," Harry said. Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't question the reasoning for their presence.

Settling on the bed, Harry assessed the damage. If there hadn't been rugburns on his back before, there certainly were now. His left eye was nearly shut, his wrists were bleeding, and his arse hurt more than it ever had before. The nosebleed had subsided, at least. Draco sat next to him and Harry grinned, lightly placing his hand on Draco's thigh. Leaning in to lick Draco's ear, he whispered, "We definitely should do that again."

Draco turned to face Harry and half-smiled. He was just about to open his mouth to speak, when Harry continued, "Don't worry about the money. I'll pay you more next time. I have plenty."

Draco's face froze, mid-smile, making him look like a demented jack-o-lantern. He drew back. Sneering, Draco said, "There's more to life than money, Potter."

Harry, suddenly indignant, retorted, "Funny hearing that from a Malfoy."

Draco pushed Harry's hand from his leg. "No amount of money will make me Harry Potter's personal whore."

"Could have fooled me."

"Fuck you, Potter."

Harry snorted. "Already happened, hasn't it?"

With that, Draco stood and hastily balled up his clothing. Cigarette still dangling from his lips, he stalked out of the room. Harry grabbed the bag of Galleons and hurled it after Draco's retreating form. The bag barely made it through the opening before the door slammed behind Draco. "Fuck you, too, Malfoy!" Harry smiled smugly when heard the coins scatter all over the hallway.

Moments later, the smile slowly fell from Harry's face, the silence in the room deafening. He caught a glance of his face in the mirror, scarcely recognising himself.


End file.
